All of the Roses
by IndianaJoans
Summary: Sherlock is overspending on flowers, breaking into people’s homes, and making lifelong commitments.


Light was slowly flooding the bedroom when Molly woke up the morning after The Call, she let out a loud groan. She was emotionally drained still, and still couldn't find the will to pick her phone back off. Fearing what might be waiting for her on that small black screen. She could already hear the mocking of people around her, the rumors that would spread around Barts. The pathetic pathologist, they would dubb her. The girl who never got over her childlike crush, they would mock.

Molly rolled over to look at Toby, who was sitting by the door meowing loudly. She watched the orange tabby push against the door for a few moments before she pulled herself out of the warm bed, toes curling as they hit the cold hardwood floor. The door creaked reluctantly as she pulled it slowly, watching her cat race down the hall. Her nose was assaulted with the smell of flowers before she even stepped into the hall, still dim in the early hours.

She padded down the hall towards the kitchen, the faint smell of coffee waking her even more. Without even entering the room, Molly came to a stop. All she could see were roses, white, red, pink, and yellow, colors everywhere. Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table, one of the only open surfaces in the room, one cup of coffee in hand the other waiting for her. His eyes looked empty and his smile was small as she stumbled into the room, walking around the vases.

"What is this?" she asked quietly.

"Its… It is to help… what I need to say- it's just," he stopped, trying to find the courage to say the words he wanted to say. But alas, after the last twenty four hours he had there was no more courage, the words I love you were replaced with a defeated sigh. He watched her look around the room skeptically not finishing the journey to the round table. "Every rose I could buy in central London," he said instead.

"Why?" she mumbled. She crossed her arms and planted her feet.

Defense positions ready.

"I love you," he countered. Sherlock's courage had not returned still, he just found himself unable to lie to her any longer. Their wasted years were coming to a close, and he was hoping this would be the last grand finale before they ventured into the next act to be titled The Loving Years.

Molly's shoulders slumped.

"No, no you don't. Why are you here?" she snapped stepping closer to the table, "Why are you making fun of me?"

Her repeated words hurt him again, almost more than the last time she said them. Sherlock was realizing why Mycroft had called sentiment a defect, because the aching in his chest hurt him so bad it felt as if he did have a heart defect. He longed to reach out and grab her, to make her understand that what he was saying was true, but he knew his Molly. He could not just show her in some primal way, he had to prove it with his words that he had so frequently used to push her away. That was no longer an option, he could not take the chance of losing her ever again, he could not bear the pain and fear he had felt in that room ever again.

"Because I do love you," he whispered. Those words were coming to his lips more naturally now. Molly now noticed the cuts and bruises on his hands, the slight tremble in the normally steady fingers. "I… I'm not sure what more I can say. It's no joke, Molly I truly and wholly love you." She stepped closer as she inspected the detective closer, the dried mud on his shoes, dark circles under his beautiful eyes, the unattended to wounds on his hands. Sherlock Holmes was unraveled, waiting for her in her kitchen, and overspending on flowers.

"Every rose in London?" she laughed clutching the back of a chair, "Always so dramatic." He smiled as she giggled taking the seat and reaching for the cooled cup of coffee. Sherlock analyzed her every movement, taking her in. The little scrunch in her nose, her short and slender fingers wrapping around the mug, even the little bits of yesterday's makeup. He was in love with it all. An overwhelming weight was lifted off his chest as he came to terms with it, his undying love for his small pathologist.

"I love you," he blurted.

"You've said that," she whispered a blush.

"But you haven't," he stated eyes darting away, he gestured around the room, "I thought you might like this, it might make you forgive me. It seems like something one of those hollywood hunks would do in those rubbish movies you love, but you- we are- I mean I-... it's more complex than that isn't it?" She nodded in reply as a tear ran down her face. "I know that I've hurt you and that buying a bunch of flowers to fill your flat with will not mend everything I've ever thrown at you. It's a bandaid, but I promise that I will do everything in my power to repay you for your unwavering love."

"I do," she whispered reaching for his hand, "I do love you." His smile reached his eyes as he finally looked back at her, she gave him a reassuring squeeze.

"Will you marry me?" he muttered.

"Marry?" she laughed, "You just got me to say I love you and now you're going to ask me to marry you?" He laughed with her for a moment before she continued. "You've never even kissed me, I can't agree to marry a man I've never kissed."

"Honestly I'm afraid if I kiss you I'll never be able to stop," he confessed, "I've been mulling it over for years."

"Take a risk, Holmes," Molly whispered leaning to him.

"Really Hooper, just marry me," he laughed as their noses touched, "but it might take a short while to get a ring, I might have spent my entire savings on some bloody flowers."

"I think I've waited long enough for a proposal, I think I can wait for a ring," she said before their lips came crashing together.


End file.
